


riding on the edge of salvation

by Caracalliope



Series: Second Sufferer Space Opera AU [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caning, Corporal Punishment, Dehumanization, F/M, Helmstroll Sollux Captor, Hurt/Comfort, IN SPACE!, Pale Kink (Homestuck), Pale Porn (Homestuck), Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Reluctant Sadist, Tenderness, maintenance spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 17:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/pseuds/Caracalliope
Summary: Captain Roxy Lalonde takes care of her pilot/moirail every time he detaches from the ship.





	riding on the edge of salvation

**Author's Note:**

> This is set like 20 years after the previous part of the series, and the two fics are only very loosely connected.

The asteroid storm lasts for four hours, and it leaves both the captain and the pilot shaking with exhaustion. Once they’re in the clear, Roxy takes off her pink captain's hat and allows herself to curl up on the helmsfloor. She closes her eyes, waits for the afterimages of the asteroids to fade away. She focuses on her breathing exercises. It’s been a decade and a half now, but her dumbass body’s first desire is still a stiff drink and a tall, icy bulge. Instead, she inhales and exhales, and she fixes her attention on Sollux’s wired-up, bare feet.

He is matching his breathing to hers, and it quiets the tremors in his hands. The ship’s course smoothens. Sollux’s shift is over; for ninety-six hours, the ship can run on inertia and residual psionic energy.

She gets why he doesn’t want help getting unhooked, so she just waits for him to sign out. The ship lets him go. If it ever refuses to, she’ll be there to chop him free, and to endure the consequences that come after.

He stumbles a little, and quickly lowers himself to the floor, cuddles up against her back. They used to do this in her block, until that one time when he was so tired that he had to crawl there and she was too tired to carry him. At least they remembered to put Sollux’s clothes back on, but they still drew eyes and sneers. Roxy doesn’t have the luxury to hand-pick her crew, but she fired a bunch of them after that. Not into the sun or anything, just back into the pitiless arms of the interstellar job market.

The remaining humans know better than to interrupt her during maintenance. She’s not sure what the trolls think, except that they're scared of her. Sollux assures her that it doesn’t matter - they’re all fish snob assholes, apparently. It's not important for them to understand why she allows Sollux to sign out at all.

His cuddling is more insistent than usual, and he's pressing his sharp nose against her back with some urgency. Roxy rolls onto her back, lets him place his head across her chest, makes sure the horns are pointed safely to the side. A few deep scratches were enough to teach her that his coordination is shit after flying.

She keeps their breathing in sync and takes one of his swollen wrists, massages the yellow marks left by the wires. She brushes careful, slow fingertips over the rim of the port there.

“Captain, can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” she promises, and then she kisses his knuckles and his wrist.

“The next time I recommend taking a shortcut, please do a total system override and command me to shove my head up my ass, as in exactly where it belongs.”

“You don’t have the hardware configuration for that, honey.”

“Guess I’ll _improvise_.”

The thing is, the asteroids are mostly Roxy’s fault, in that she’s the captain and everything is her fault. But Sollux came up with the route, and he was so into it, too. They’ll figure it out, he said. Uncharted space is fun, he said. This trip’s getting so boring that his bulges are withering off, he argued, and they’ll just improvise if something goes wrong.

So, that was an error of judgment that happened there. According to the Crocker™ flight manual, that means that maintenance needs to be more comprehensive than usual. It doesn’t matter that they both feel like quivery pieces of space waste. Roxy has never been a by-the-book kind of gal, but Sollux deserves the best she can give him, and that means she’s going to follow procedure to the letter.

... Almost to the letter. It technically says that she’s to avoid delays in the procedure. But for better or for worse, the captain makes the decisions. So she takes the time to pet his hair, like he’s a cat that narrowly avoided ending up on someone’s dinner plate. The sounds he's making are almost cat-like, too, just a little buzzier. She’s starting to prefer it.

His breaths and his movements are still too jerky and harsh, but he cooperates when she slides him off her chest, settles him facedown on the floor. Without her needing to say so — or command it — he gets up on his hands and knees, settles into position with his butt in the air and his head hanging down low. His legs are still trembling. That’s the thing about keeping a ship moving in space when the pilot is detachable. It requires unceasing focus, oceans of psionic energy, deep-ass emotional fortitude, and way too much fucking legwork.

She takes a moment to admire him: the ports arrayed symmetrically by his troll vertebrae, his ridiculously sharp hips trying so hard to stand still, but still tilting a little to the left. She positions him correctly, and then makes a dash for the captain’s desk.

Thorough maintenance means she’ll need a rod. Roxy chooses a springy one, made of metal but less likely to raise welts than some of the others. She expands it and tests it out, knows that Sollux can hear the swish. His breathing speeds up, then quiets down again. He could probably talk her down from her choice of equipment, but he’s not going to.

Roxy gets into her own position and rolls her shoulders. Sometimes, this can be fun, but that’s not what she’s aiming for today.

She aims for the backs of his skinny thighs, marked up already by the ship’s wiring. He flinches on impact. That’s good, it means she’s not going to have to keep doing this for too long. Roxy hits his ass, again and again, careful to keep the strikes symmetric, just like she promised him. He’s barely got any ass, but it’s still easier to do this than to keep just to his thighs. The noises he’s making are small and alien, and Roxy takes a moment to run her fingers across the yellow marks. That’s not in the manual, but who the fuck cares. His skin is generally warmer than hers, and it’s scorching where she beat him. He always looks, and feels, like he can’t take any more damage — and then he takes as much of it as she decides he needs.

When she takes up the rod again, she goes back to the one yellow line she left across the back of his legs. She strikes above and below, perfect parallels, and Sollux gasps. He’s not a stoic, composed pilot. Roxy never wanted him to be.  
Every time she hits him, he rocks forward and back, unstable but determined to stay in place.

She pats his ass, warning him and encouraging him, and reminding him of her presence. As his captor/captain/moirail, Roxy's got some claim over that ass. Once she thinks he is steady, she lets the strikes land fast and loose. She never hits high enough to catch the lowest ports, nor low enough to bruise the backs of his knees, but everything else is hers to cover, and she uses her full force. She’s not as strong as a troll, but she’s done this this plenty of times, and not just for him, not just for maintenance.

“No more shortcuts,” she says, and the blow lands between his cheeks, making him lose position for the first time. He scrambles back up to his elbows. “I need you to be the one with the good ideas in this relationship. And on this ship.”

He can’t really talk at this point, but she takes his hitching breaths as agreement. She aims at the crack again, and then watches him lock his legs together. She hopes she won’t have to force him to part them.

“We deserve a nice, sweet maintenance session, bro,” she says. “This is just bullshit.”

He nods, frantic, with enough force to rock his whole body. Shit, he’s still too tense. He spreads his knees again, trying hard not to fall. Sometimes, catching his nook with the rod helps, but he hates it and she doesn't want to do it.

Instead, she changes her grip on the rod and stops trying to land its full length. She aims only the tip at the soft skin beneath his ass. Sollux sobs at the sting, and then Roxy repeats the same procedure, aiming at bruises on his ass. She avoids the welts that formed on his thighs. Keeps it all symmetric and doesn't leave him time to think or beg.

The dry sobs tell her he’s nearly there, and experience has taught her that she can put the pain aside now. She puts the rod between her teeth, and caresses the two lowest ports on her moirail's back, first clockwise and then counterclockwise. And that’s just it, just right. Sollux sends up a beautiful shower of red and blue sparks, and he starts crying loudly, shaking all over.

She makes sure that he hears the rod contract into its casing. After that, Sollux collapses, curls up to one side. She’s taken care of her pilot, and now she can finally go back to caring for her diamond.

He clings to her the moment she gets close. She's never asked how he can stand to have her so close, immediately after she hurt him. Maybe troll bodies and instincts work differently, maybe she’s just never been hurt in the way he keeps getting hurt here.

She kisses his nose, takes his shades off so the pink and blue tears can flow freely. Her shoulders ache with exertion, and she’s shaking a little too, maybe just in sympathy. He hooks one of his legs over hers, and she curls up with her face against his chest. No horns to worry about, and she can hold him as close as she wants. She waits until the crying subsides, and his breathing sacs sound clear and strong against her ear.

“Do you want to like, talk about it?” He once told her that her pale ineptness was part of her pale charm. She clings to this thought every time she opens her mouth in the capacity of his moirail.

“Nah,” he says.

“I’m sorry you’re in pain,” she says, too tired to feel shame over how bad her pile talk game is.

“No shit,” he says, he and kisses her forehead.

“If I pap you, will it help?”

“It kinda sounds like I need to pap you,” he says, and it’s something like a lazy threat. Roxy doesn’t hate it when he touches her face. She, well, she _definitely_ doesn’t hate it. But it’s a lot, and she’s close to her breaking point right now.

“I’m just -” she says. Doesn’t know what to say because nothing about this time was fun. Next time might not be, either.

“I know, Rox, we both are. Fuck outer space, right?”

The neverending darkness, the tension in her crew, the way Sollux has to go back to his station twice a week. The way this is all on her shoulders, and any good deeds they will do are still lightyears away. She nods, and she only relaxes when he starts purring/buzzing. She’s got no idea how either of them will make it back to their blocks. Maybe she should just get a mattress for the helmsdeck and bring in some cat-shaped pillows to liven up the place.

She’s about to suggest it, but the hum he’s making blends into the hum of the ship. She has no idea how he can be asleep when his ass must be on fire - but maybe it’s just different troll instincts again.

She holds on tight, breathing in his weird, sweet scent. She knows it’s going to take a while, but she’s going to calm down her thoughts and let herself enjoy this part, at least. She holds on to the image of Sollux's pointy smile, and finally, the tension in her shoulders ebbs away.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Aaron - Magnetic Road.


End file.
